


The Sound of Love

by bubblegumhalsey



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Cal gets jealous of Luke, Cute, Don't yell at me, Fluff, I will break, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, LOL THE ENDING SUCKS, Literally only fluff like burn me, Loss of Virginity, M/M, No Angst, Not a synesthesia expert here, Not edited yet, Recreational Drug Use, SORRY IT IS 7:50 AM I HAVE BEEN WRITING FOR 2 HOURS, Synesthesia, i am FRAGILE, i am trash, non-au, not really underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblegumhalsey/pseuds/bubblegumhalsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So basically it's just some cute Malum where Calum has synesthesia and Michael's always there for him and Calum writes songs based on what he hears when he sees the different colors of Michael's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Love

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoy this lmao it took me two hours

When Calum was 3 years old, he smelled the music of a violin.

It was a strange sensation. His fingers were tingling and he was bumbling along on two shaky legs on his way down the hall to the bathroom, because now he had big kid underwear and he couldn't upset his mom and piss in them. He was practically an adult, wasn't he above wetting himself?

As he toddled along down the neverending hallway, he stopped when he smelled something. It was almost like cinnamon, the sweet kind that made an appearance in apple pie that his mother would make. The kitchen was just to the right of him, but this seemed different. As if the scent was not natural, but artificial in the sense that there wasn't an apple pie anywhere.

Calum was thoroughly confused, until he saw the radio, which was set to some shit classical station. (He may only be 3, but c'mon, even he knew that cellos and harps were shit unless they were playing Metallica.). He was completely distracted from his earlier task, which was to get to the bathroom, so of course he relieved himself right there, which caused a worrying Joy Hood to pick up the fussy toddler and change him out of his big boy pants.

The first time, it almost seemed unreal.

Calum continued to be able to see and hear and smell and taste and feel things that no one else could. When he was 7, the smell of exhaust that left the bus as it screeched to a halt in front of his stop painted a beautiful scenery of lime greens and royal purples and deep blues that could only be described as beautiful.

His primary school teachers didn't understand when he would tell them to stop using chalk because the sound made the room smell of burnt toast. When he finally advanced to middle school, people began to develop their own thoughts about him and how his brain worked different. The limited friends he had made in his earlier years thinned out and became less and less until only one remained.

Calum still remembers the day they met vividly. In his first year of school, when he was just in Kindergarten, Michael Clifford walked into his life. The only one who stayed.

The boy was tiny, all chubby cheeks and red face and loud voice. Something about him intrigued Calum, whether it was his brilliant green eyes or his I-Don't-Give-A-Shit demeanor. Whatever it was, it was what made Calum pull the kid down by the back of overalls to sit beside him at his table for fingerpainting. Miss. Beatrice was listening to smooth jazz while she wrote up lesson plans, making sure to glance up at the kids every once in a while to make sure that there was no hair pulling or glitter fights.

Calum still remembers the feeling of hope that the soft basslines and easy trumpet melodies had given him, and how the world became yellow and green and pink. The picture that the young boy had drawn reminded Michael of pretty flowers at springtime.

"I like your picture!" the young boy all but screamed, causing a scolding teacher to look up and narrow her eyes at the child. Michael blushed, mumbling a "sorry" before dipping a finger into a bowl of red paint and swish it around Calum's paper. The other boy looked over in horror. And then he screamed.

"You ruined my picture!" Calum yelled, fighting back sobs as he stamped his foot. All he could hear when he looked at the painting now was sirens wailing and his mom yelling and the smooth jazz being overcome by chaos. A whimper spilled from Michael's mouth as his bottom lip trembled.

"I can fix it," the older boy mumbled, taking the painting from Calum (much to the other's wide-eyed dismay) and swirling his finger around in the jar of light blue paint. He then dipped his finger in the pink, causing the other kids to yell about mixing the colors. Michael didn't care as he ran his finger over the dark red slash, blending the colors. Suddenly, Calum began to hear a steady drumbeat, a frog on a pond. The sound of laughter.

Michael looked over at Calum, searching and scanning his face for some kind of sign of appreciation and acceptance. That has always been what Michael wants. Attention and acceptance for his hard work.

Calum smiled brightly, wrapping his arms around Michael and letting out a shriek. Neither cared that they got paint on each other's shirts. It was washable. This was Kindergarten.

Michael and Calum became best friends after that. The older kid lived about four or five miles from Calum, still in the same neighborhood. The two would go to the same bus stop, sit down beside each other on the way to school, sit next to each other in school, and then go home and play together until dark. Neither of their mothers seemed to care. They were just close, was all.

In 4th grade, Calum told Michael all about the strange way his brain functioned. His mother had taken him to some sort of special doctor after she found out when he was 4. Dr. Noel told his mother how it wasn't OCD, but instead a very rare form of synesthesia. Calum didn't know what that meant, but he explained it to Michael nonetheless, making sure he annunciated each letter of the strange word properly. The other kid wasn't fazed.

He asked how to spell synesthesia. Calum didn't know.

So Michael and Calum had a strong bond. They made a pact when they were in 8th grade that if neither of them had lost their virginity by the time Michael reached 19, then they would take matters into their own hands. Calum liked the idea. Michael had a nice dick.

When they got to high school, there was more and more pressure to do drugs and drink and go out partying. When Calum smoked weed for the first time, he remembers the way all of his senses were stimulated. He was smelling the sounds of firetrucks and he could taste soft curves and he could feel the smell of the forest and the sight of an eagle's screech was there and everything was so real and scary. Michael was there when he had his first cigarette, and it tasted like teal which made his lips smack because it was so so sweet. 

When Luke popped into the picture, he was all smiled and crooked teeth. He weasled his way into their little friendship, making it three instead of the duo it had always been. Luke began to get cozy with Michael, which made Calum so jealous that his fingertips would cramp from him squeezing them into fists and when the dark-haired boy went over Michael's house and was met with the sight of the two making out half-naked with one's hand down the other's pants he could barely even think straight. He was overcome by anger and the smell that came with the jealousy and heartbreak was so sickening that Calum threw up all over his own shoes.

Luke and Michael clarified that it was just a one time thing and that it would never happen again. Luke was blushing and pulling on his shirt, fumbling with his fingers like a child being scolded while Michael just stood up with a smug smile on his face, a bulge still prominent in his tight jeans. Calum stormed out of the house, screams echoing through his head when he smelled rain. The feel of water droplets on his back made him dizzy, and he couldn't wait until he was home and could finally think.

Michael apologized the next day in school, saying that Luke left immediately after he had. The love that was laced through his voice, the care and the sadness when Calum didn't speak was enough to make the younger boy wrap the dirty-blonde in a hug, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. Michael's face exploded in a blush as he sighed dreamily, completely overcome by bliss and relieved that Calum had forgiven him. 

Calum, Michael, and Luke started making covers together. Luke had already been doing it, and he sucked. His voice was cute but no one took him seriously because he looked like a 5 year old. When Calum was handed a guitar, he raised an eyebrow before beginning to pluck out a melody.The sounds were drowned out by the splashes of color that lit up his eyes every time something decent was played. Michael placed a hand over his when red splotches dotted the other boy's vision, guiding a shaky hand to the rigtt frets. They got pretty good fairly quickly, and got a gig. Except they needed a drummer. One who didn't suck.

They held open auditions, posting na ad on Craigslist, except only one person showed up. Ashton Irwin was his name, and he played some All Time Low on a broken drum kit in Michael's basement. The three others loved him immediately (especially Luke), and Calum could catch the smell of cookies everytime Ashton tapped out a beat. The older boy was accepted into the band, and they played their first gig. To 12 people.

They got noticed fairly quickly by a boy who's hair looked like it smelled of almonds. They were signed to One Direction's record deal and soon they were opening for the biggest boy band on the planet. The life they were living was beautiful. Amazing. But there was one problem.

None of them could write songs.

They had tried, in the past. They relied on Ashton, because he had the most life experience and he had been in a band before. He couldn't write a decent ditty to save his life. The four didn't want to be a band that completely gave up writing songs to their manager, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

And then Michael dyed his hair.

It wasn't too big of a change. He just changed the color to a dark brown. Nothing unnatural. But something in Calum changed that first day he dyed it. The boy grabbed a guitar and began to play. Whenever he saw the colors of Michael's hair streak across his vision, he would write the name of the note that gave him the sensation down. Someone else would have to write words, but for now, this was enough.

Michael continued to dye his hair. Calum continued to write songs.

They were on the North American leg of their Rock Out With Your Socks Out tour when Michael stumbled into the back room of the bus with newly black hair. He plopped down on top of Calum, sighing and nuzzling his face against the other boy's neck. The brown boy instinctively wrapped his arms around the other, sighing again. The room stayed silent for a few moments.

"Remember that pact we made in Year 8?" he mumbled after a comfortable silence had filled every corner of the room, with Calum carding his fingers through the older's hair. The palms of his hands were stained black, because Michael used the cheap dye that ran and he hadn't even washed it out all the way. Calum's eyes widened at the question.

"I, uh, I actually didn't remember it until now. Why do you ask?" Calum asked, his leg bouncing up and down the way it did when he was nervous. 

"Because I want to make sure we're on the same page. And I want you to want this as much as I do," Michael mumbled, his voice husky. It was only then that Calum became aware of the lips that were trailing down his neck, which made bright light shine from an untraceable source. Michael's lips were soft and there was just the slightest scratch of stubble and it was so perfect, too perfect, and suddenly Calum was overwhelmed by sights and tastes and smells and the feeling of Michael. A small mewl escaped the younger's lips, which gave the pale boy all the consent that he needed. He pulled away from Calum's neck, pressing their foreheads together. 

"Can I kiss you?" Michael asked timidly, his hands trailing along Calum's body. The bou nodded, and they both leaned forward, their lips slotting together perfectly. It was bliss. Michael was rolling his hips down to meet Calum's and there was the smallest bit of tongue and fuck if that wasn't just Michael grazing his teeth along the younger's lower lip. The world behind Calum's eyelids began to change color, explodingg into bright pastels that blended perfectly with their black backdrop. Michael was the first to pull away for air, his mouth open as he panted heavily. 

"Before we continue, if we even do, can I, um, will you, um," Michael stuttered, his eyes going wide as Calum captured his lips with his own once again.

"I want to be your boyfriend," Calum answered truthfully, hands trailing up Michael's sides under his shirt, along the soft curves and sharp jut of his ribs. Michael's eyes widened as he nodded.

"Yes. Yup, Okay. We can go on," Michael blushes as he pulls Calum ever closer, slowly undressing the younger boy.

And as they lay together, naked and tired and tangled in each other's arms as they fall asleep to the sound of each other's heartbeats, Calum can almost see the love radiating from the boy's body. He can feel it, too, as Michael gently caresses his thighs, the hickeys that litter them catching under the pale boy's fingertips.

The love that envelopes Calum as the sea of colors lulls him to sleep is what keeps him breathing. It's what keeps him sane. It has always been Michael, the loud boy who can't sleep without someone beside him. Michael is his anchor. Michael is his.

**Author's Note:**

> HI SO I'M ASHLYN AND YOU SHOULD TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT?? I LIKED IT THIS TOOK ME 2 HOURS AND IT'S UNEDITED SO?? HOPE YOU ENJOYED??


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